


i'm finding it hard to believe we're in heaven

by Feathersong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ...ish, Canon-Compliant Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Use Their Words, Destiel - Freeform, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Episode: s15e20 Carry On Coda, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, and for dean to show emotions, basically i just wanted a heartfelt reunion so here you go lads, there is some canon-compliant dialogue but then i go my own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feathersong/pseuds/Feathersong
Summary: Dean wakes up in heaven, and there's only one person he's hoping will be there.[S15 E20 Carry On Coda. Picks up from where the episode ends, but with some tweaks made to the episode's events.]
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 136





	i'm finding it hard to believe we're in heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially, I can just about deal with some of the finale, but the lack of Cas and the characters' regression was less than ideal, so here: some Dean emotions for your consideration, along with the reunion that we've all been wanting. ❤️

Dean’s first thought when he opened his eyes was that the light wasn’t as blinding as he expected.

Based on past experience, he had assumed the clinical white light of a heavenly corridor would greet him, or even a bright flash of light before he woke up in a memory. Instead, he found himself blinking into the sunshine glowing softly through trees, the blurry orbs of light shifting in his vision as the leaves rustled.

A different thought crossed through his mind: trees. _Why are there_ trees _?_

Dean’s brain was foggy, as if he’d stood up too quickly and given himself headrush. He frowned in concentration as he blinked furiously, attempting to bring his surroundings into focus. Glancing to his right, he realised he was standing next to a rusty-looking wooden shack, the sight of which made the breath catch in his throat.

_The Roadhouse._

Dean furrowed his brow again, despite not being entirely displeased. _Why here?_ Sure, he’d had plenty of happy memories here. Old memories. Pints shared with Jo and Ellen after a tough hunt; celebratory karaoke nights after they’d all had a few; Dean dragging Ash out from behind the bar to join them for _Angels_ singalongs—' _This song is trash!’ ‘That’s what makes it fun, Ash.’_ —his alcohol-softened contentment leaving him inclined to leave his hand lingering on Ash’s arm for a second longer than usual.

Dean shook himself back into the present. _Very_ old memories.

‘Well, at least I made it to heaven,’ he muttered to himself. Not that he’d let himself consider he’d end up back in hell—as much as he knew Jack had been keen to restore the normal order, he’d rather optimistically assumed the godly kid would pull a few strings and land him at the pearly gates. It had been a risky assumption, but he’d made it. If his welcoming party was a fond memory with the gang from _The_ _Roadhouse_ , he wouldn’t complain.

However, seeing Bobby sitting in a chair on the porch, nursing a bottle of beer, made him instantly second-guess himself.

‘What memory is this?’ Dean said slowly, half to himself. His brain was still too foggy to fully comprehend the enormity of what was taking place, but he had regained enough sense to know that this was not a memory he had any recollection of.

As he pieced the scenario together, he briefly considered with a start that he might actually be in hell. Who else would taunt him with visions of Bobby? Last he knew, Bobby had all but sacrificed himself to the heavenly authorities.

Responding to his confusion, Bobby let out a chuckle. ‘It ain’t, ya idjit.’

‘Yeah it is,’ Dean said with more certainty, trying to keep his emotions at bay. Hearing Bobby’s token phrase had tugged at something in his heart that he’d long since thought was dead. ‘’Cos the last I heard, you… you were in heaven’s lock-up.’

‘Was.’ Bobby shrugged. ‘Now I’m not.’

Dean felt several emotions flash across his mind as Bobby continued. ‘That kid of yours—before he went… wherever—made some changes here. Busted my ass out. And, well… he set some things right.’

Dean squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to let everything sink in. Jack had made changes? Well, perhaps that really did explain why Dean had made it to heaven. The kid wasn’t here any more, though. Dean pushed back on the sadness that had risen as quickly as his excitement. Guilt quickly took its place—he’d barely said two nice words to Jack in weeks, which made his hasty farewell a few months back more bitter than sweet.

Sighing inwardly, Dean decided to cut himself some slack. Jack would turn up eventually. He had to. He was all that Dean had to remind him of the life he’d just been living; Dean didn’t want to see Sam here any time soon, and Cas…

Dean’s thought process ground to a halt. He flinched inwardly; desperate for a distraction, he spotted a chair next to Bobby’s, and lowered himself into the seat as Bobby talked, willing his mind to clear.

‘…Down all the walls,' Bobby continued as Dean's focus returned. ‘Heaven ain’t just reliving your golden oldies any more. It’s what it always should’ve been. Everyone happy.’ He paused, smiling knowingly at Dean. ‘Everyone together.’

Dean allowed himself a small smile. Wow. The kid had outdone himself.

‘He really did it,’ he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Cas had proclaimed over and over that Jack was destined for greatness—to pioneer peace, create paradise—and Dean had never believed him. Not because he didn’t trust Cas—no, he’d sworn to himself he’d never mistrust Cas again. It was just that Dean simply couldn’t comprehend what paradise would look like. It wasn’t something he’d ever experience, anyway; he didn’t believe he deserved it.

What had he ever done to make him more worthy of it than anyone else?

He began to wonder what these changes meant. Did people still go to hell? Did ghosts and spirits still aimlessly wander the earth? Was there anyone left in The Empty?

His heart began to pound. Was Cas—

‘Rufus lives about five miles that way,’ Bobby interrupted Dean’s thoughts. ‘And your mom and dad… they got a place over yonder.’ Dean’s gaze followed where his finger was pointing to a picturesque white cottage, fronted by a well-manicured garden sitting among a copse of trees. The sight was surreal—domestic, picturesque bliss didn’t fit any image Dean could conjure of his parents.

As if sensing his uncertainty, Bobby’s face softened into a smile. ‘It ain’t just heaven, Dean. It’s the heaven you deserve. And we’ve been waiting for you.’

For a moment, Dean allowed himself to believe it. This—this version of heaven that Bobby was describing… it was real. And Dean had made it.

Maybe he _had_ earned it. After all the tears, the fighting, the desperate searching for a slither of hope when all seemed lost, this was it. Granted, Dean hadn’t ‘gone out swinging’ the way he’d once intended—but he and Sam had deliberately begun winding down the number of hunts they were doing, handing over larger cases to the network of hunters who Jack had brought back after Chuck’s attempt at genocide. Jody and her girls were at the centre of the operation, and had promised to man the fort once Sam and Dean had moved on.

After everything that went down with Chuck, and everyone finally gathered together in celebration of their victory, the decision had been unanimous: Sam and Dean deserved to rest.

Initially, Dean had struggled to relinquish control. Not because he didn’t think the others were capable—with the help of Charlie and Bobby’s teams, Jody and Donna were running the smoothest hunting operation this side of the Atlantic. They were training a generation of hunters and coordinating them to their hunts with an efficiency that would make the Men of Letters proud, but with enough moral compassion and comradery to make the business a familial one at its heart. Dean was simply unable to let go of the feeling of responsibility. These were his comrades, his allies, his closest friends in the world, and he couldn’t escape the age-old feeling that he’d dragged them into something that would one day hurt them. Sam, on the other hand, was finding it easier to let go, and with every hunt that passed, Dean could sense his brother itching to start his life. Dean had caught him excitedly going over job applications and college degrees with Eileen; he reminded Dean of the younger, more hopeful version of his brother whose life he’d derailed fifteen years ago. It gave Dean reason to fight even harder. He even browsed a few jobs himself, and began to imagine what life could be like beyond hunting, and beyond the loss he’d suffered. A better life—a free one.

Dean just hadn’t counted on everything being cut short by a goddamn rusty nail in the vamps’ nest.

In some ways, at the time, the drawn-out nature of it had felt like a blessing. Dean was well-versed in the art of giving speeches in his dying moments—not that that ever made it any easier—so when the grim realisation set in that he wasn’t going anywhere, he forced himself to focus and tell Sam what he knew he needed to hear. It wasn’t anything that Sam hadn’t heard before, or that he didn’t already know, but Dean knew as well as anyone that Sam would replay the moment over and over again in his head, wondering what he could’ve done differently. And if Sam was going to torture himself with it, Dean was determined his brother would have some words of comfort to focus on.

The hunting network was up and running, their legacy established, and Sam’s future was before him. Everything would be okay for Sam—Dean knew it. He was just devastated he wouldn’t live to see it.

Dying had actually taken longer than Dean had expected, for once, giving him sufficient time to comfort Sam as best he could, and to attempt to make his peace with things ending. But in his final moments, as his senses were overtaken by a primal fear he had no control over, Dean had found himself clinging to Sam and begged him for reassurance. That everything would be okay—not just for Sam, but for himself; surely heaven had to be waiting for him, after everything he’d been through. As his surroundings blurred, Sam’s frantic comforts faded, and the reality of the situation made black spots appear across Dean’s vision, the only thing keeping him from crying out and breaking down was the prospect of seeing his loved ones again; not just Sam one day, but his Mom, his Dad, Charlie, Kevin—all those people he knew he’d let down, and couldn’t wait to see again. Dean had longed for this for so long, and it was finally time.

He’d hoped he’d earned the right to see them again, and now he finally believed he had.

Even if there was one person he knew he’d never seen again, no matter how much he hoped.

Dean exhaled, trying to clear his head of the memories that were beginning to flash across his mind. Considering he was no longer alive, he wasn’t remembering things any less vividly. To distract himself, he looked out past the trees to the rolling hills beyond, half picturing Jack sculpting the landscape with his bare hands. It was already wonderfully peaceful—precisely what Dean had imagined heaven being like when he was younger. Back when the only thing that would get him back to sleep at night would be imagining his mother in a place like this, accompanied by the same angelic protectors she always promised were watching over him.  
Damnit. He’d only been in heaven for five minutes, and he already couldn’t stop thinking about Cas. Cas, who in his last moments had shown more bravery than Dean thought possible; who had sacrificed his life—his goddamn immortal existence, even—so Dean had a shot at living for what had ended up being a few short months. Cas, whose eyes had bored into Dean’s for a heartbeat before he was enveloped in darkness, betraying nothing but an out-of-place yet blissful happiness that came from seeing that Dean finally knew—knew that Cas loved him.

_How could that have been enough? How could I have been worth dying for?_ The more Dean had thought about it in the hours that followed, the more his eyes had stung, the lower his heart had sank, and the more the stomach-crushing guilt had set in. Cas had done everything for Dean, given everything. Hell, he was the reason Dean was even here, and not suffering alone in darkness for all eternity.

Suddenly, Dean wasn’t convinced he deserved to be here after all.

Sighing inwardly, he returned his attention to Bobby. ‘So Jack did all that, huh,’ he mused, ringing his hands.

Bobby nodded his head slowly, and nonchalantly took a sip of beer from the bottle resting on his lap. He took a moment to respond, as if wanting to choose his next words carefully.

Nothing could have prepared Dean for what he said next, though.

Bobby looked pointedly at Dean, eyebrows slightly raised. ‘Cas helped.’

Dean’s breath hitched.

He grabbed at the arms of the chair to stop himself from buckling forwards, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate a response. Nothing came out. Bobby didn’t offer anything else, and just continued to sip his beer, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye with a sly smile on his face.

Dean’s initial overwhelming emotion was that of incredulity—how? He knew the answer, though: Jack. Of course Jack would bring back the man who had practically raised him. As much as he referred to Cas, Dean, and Sam as his three fathers, Cas was the one whose faith in Jack had never wavered, whose love for him had been unconditional, regardless of Jack’s actions.

_How long had Cas been back? Was he trapped in heaven? Had Jack enlisted him as some sort of angelic guard? Did that mean he could only go where Jack did?_ Dean’s mind spun with questions, his emotions darting frantically between feelings of elation and uncertainty.

He didn’t know what to think. He only knew that he needed to know if Cas was here now.

‘So,’ Bobby spoke up, oblivious to Dean’s internal distress. ‘What’re you gonna do now, Dean?’

Dean turned to Bobby, and for a moment only managed to blink absently at him. When he regained the power of speech, he croaked out: ‘I… I dunno. I might just… sit here. For a bit. Clear my head. Lot to take in, this,’ he added, gesturing wildly to his surroundings before lowering his arm and clutching the arm of the chair to disguise his trembling hands. 

Bobby regarded Dean with a look of unveiled amusement. ‘Be my guest. Stay as long as you like. Time passes differently, here.’

Dean was silent for a few moments. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white.

‘Does everyone know I’m here?’ he managed. ‘Is there a sort of… heavenly siren that goes off?’

‘Not quite.’ Bobby shook his head, chuckling. ‘You can see people whenever you’re ready.’ He fell quiet for a moment, and slowly leaned forward to set down his beer on the ground, his gaze lingering on something on the horizon.

‘What about…’ Dean screwed his eyes shut and massaged his temple. He reminded himself that this was really Bobby—his Bobby, not a sarkier version of him from a parallel universe that didn’t recall anything about his time with Sam and Dean.

_His_ Bobby had always been a shoulder to cry on for Dean when he was younger, had never raised his voice at him, and knew exactly how to cheer him up. As a child, Dean used to confide in Bobby in ways that he never could his own father, for fear of being misunderstood or not taken seriously, or even just being ignored. As much as Dean confided in Sam and Cas, he still occasionally mourned the need for parental advice—to not have to be the adult in the situation.

Dean had never been more grateful to have Bobby to talk to, to feel like he could speak freely—from judgement from others, and from himself.

Was this why Bobby was the first person he’d encountered?

‘What about Cas?’ Dean said finally, his voice quiet. ‘You seen him?’

Bobby hummed in agreement, his gaze fixed over Dean’s shoulder. ‘Yeah. I have.’

Dean looked down at his hands sheepishly, feeling slightly foolish, but managing not to care too much. ‘Is there a way of… y’know. Calling him? Do you even need to pray when you’re in heaven?’

Bobby nodded his head in the direction he’d been looking. When he spoke, his voice was soft.

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

It took Dean a moment to realise what Bobby meant. The moment he understood, he whipped his head round with a sharp intake of breath.

As his eyes fell on a figure about a hundred feet away with a familiar tan-coloured trench coat, his heart suddenly felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

Castiel had clearly decided to keep his distance, choosing to watch Dean from afar as he acclimatised himself to his new heavenly surroundings. He was standing just under the shade of some pine trees, his hands in his pockets, and he was looking in their direction; from what Dean could see, he didn’t flinch under Dean’s gaze.

Dean stood up abruptly, nearly toppling his chair over in the process. He turned to Bobby, opening his mouth to explain himself, but Bobby waved him off. ‘Go on,’ he said gently. ‘I know you’ve been waiting for this.’

Dean felt like he was floating as his feet carried him off the porch and into the field of long grass. He didn’t know what he was feeling, what he was going to say, or what he was going to do; all he knew was that he had to close the distance between him and Cas. Now.

He didn’t even register breaking into a run, so when he suddenly drew closer to Cas and saw that the angel hadn’t so much as stepped forward, Dean had to force himself to slow down.

Dean staggered to a halt a few feet away, panting with exertion. He could barely believe his eyes.

‘Hello, Dean.’

The familiarity of those two words, along with the gravelly voice that spoke them, made Dean’s stomach somersault.

He’d never thought he’d hear them again.

‘Cas…’ Dean croaked, before words failed him altogether. For a moment, all he could do was stare at Cas, blinking furiously as he felt his eyes begin to sting. Cas’s expression was as indiscernible as ever; Dean quickly searched his face for any sign of emotion—good or bad—and found nothing. Cas was just staring at him, his piercingly blue eyes unblinking, his head tilted to one side as if regarding Dean with curiosity.

Dean didn’t know what to say. The only thought that was echoing in every part of his mind was that Cas was standing right in front of him. Nothing else seemed important.

Cas was _here_.

‘Yes, I am here,’ Cas said quietly, not shifting his eyes from Dean’s. Dean realised he’d spoken aloud, and felt his face redden. He tried to bite back a laugh, but it escaped his lips anyway, and before he knew it he was smiling, grinning, laughing in delight, and his feet were closing the gap between them of their own accord, and he was pulling Cas to him, wrapping his arms around Cas’s shoulders, the trench coat material bunching up in his fingers.

And when Cas reached up to hug him back, Dean felt a weight fall from his shoulders. He melted into the embrace, burying his face into the crook in Cas’s neck, barely noticing that his stinging eyes were now brimming over with tears. He felt Cas pull him closer with equal fervour, his arms wrapping around Dean’s waist, head nestling into the collar of Dean’s jacket, and for several minutes they stayed like this: silent, clinging onto each other as if for dear life, Dean quietly sobbing into Cas’s shirt collar.

‘You’re alive,’ Dean whispered, his voice muffled as he talked into Cas’s neck.

‘You’re not,’ Cas replied. His voice was gravelly with emotion. He extricated himself gently from the embrace, and regarded Dean with a look of sympathy that made his heart ache. ‘I’m so sorry, Dean.’

‘What for?’ Dean was incredulous. He gripped Cas’s shoulder tighter. ‘That I _died_? Come on, man, that’s not your fault. That’s the fault of some crappy builder who didn’t know how to use a hammer.’ He managed a smile despite the morbidity of his statement.

Cas’s eyes became misty. ‘I should have been there,’ he said quietly, his voice breaking. He hung his head as if he were ashamed.

‘Hey, Cas,’ Dean said softly, lowering his head so Cas was forced to look at him. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, okay? Besides, you’ve probably had one hell of a mess to clear up with Jack. Angelic chores, redesigning heaven—’ Dean gestured with his head to their surroundings, ‘—hell, even landscape gardening, from the look of it.’

Cas shook his head as Dean spoke. ‘I’ve not been able to return to Earth since Jack brought me back,’ he explained solemnly. ‘He’s brought back all the angels—and archangels—that were faithful to humanity to help recreate heaven.’

Dean’s eyebrows raised. ‘That’s great, Cas!’ he said, delighted. ‘You’ve got a family again.’ He attempted to ignore the gnawing in his stomach that the statement induced—he’d always thought of Cas as part of _his_ family, but now… Cas was where he belonged. ‘Sounds like Jack’s really got everything sussed, huh.’

Cas managed a smile. ‘He has. And it is wonderful to have everyone back.’ He paused, and his face dropped once more. ‘The only proviso was that we aren’t allowed to interfere with Earth anymore. We have to let humanity be. So when Jack told me it was nearly your… time…’ Cas broke off, squeezing his eyes shut.

‘Hey,’ Dean repeated. He could tell Cas was really broken up about this. ‘This is how it’s supposed to be, right? Humans die, while angels live forever in the holy halls of heaven. That’s not on you, Cas.’

‘I know. I just wanted to be there. With you.’ Cas met his gaze. ‘Like you were with me.’

Dean’s stomach knotted. Over the last few months, the only way he’d been able to cope with the memory of Cas’s death was by repressing it. Remembering it was too painful, especially when he thought about everything Cas had said to him.

Dean swallowed. Okay, so he’d spent the past few months dealing with regret. Regret for all the words he hadn’t managed to say—the words he’d spent years practising in his head, and eventually disregarding for fear of rejection. Regret for seeing the hope glowing on Cas’s face, and not being able to respond beyond pleading with him to stay. He had tortured himself with ‘what-ifs’ and replays of Cas’s words in his head, mumbling them to himself at night in the bunker to comfort himself—or hurt himself, depending on how self-deprecating he was feeling. He’d thought he’d lost his chance—missed out on saying how he really felt, and it had eaten away at him to the point where even thinking about Cas had been painful.

Now he had a chance to fix it, he wasn’t going to let it go.

‘Yeah. Except I didn’t exactly rise to the occasion,’ Dean said, his voice heavy with guilt. He didn’t break eye contact with Cas, hoping his intentions were clear.

Cas tilted his head further to the side, regarding Dean with a look of puppy-like confusion. It was an expression Dean was used to, and he felt a tug in his abdomen at the familiarity of it.

‘You didn’t have to,’ Cas replied, smiling. ‘I said all I needed to, and that was enough.’ He was clearly content with everything that had gone down, and upon realising this, Dean began to feel miserable. _How could Cas be truly content without reciprocation?_

Dean closed his eyes as a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. Cas had constantly been made to feel like he wasn’t worth loving; that he was second-rate, that he didn’t matter. Every instance of betrayal, misplaced trust, misunderstanding—in self-righteous anger, Dean would too often place the blame on Cas, because he was always in the wrong place at precisely the wrong moment. Too long had he been a scapegoat for Dean’s rage, when his fury at the universe for using them as punching bags was too much for him to bear. Cas took the brunt of it all, and he did so bravely, with his love for humanity and his often blind faith in the Winchesters—he always had done. It was in Cas’s nature to be self-sacrificing. But for him to _still_ not expect anything in return for fiercely and unflinchingly loving Dean, even if it killed him? This saddened Dean more than he could express.

‘Besides,’ Cas continued, patting Dean on the shoulder, blissfully unaware of Dean’s turmoil. ‘I didn’t exactly give you a chance to respond.’ He smiled warmly, and this time the smile reached his eyes.

Dean steeled himself. _Nope, not good enough._

‘Oh, I’ve had plenty of chances,’ Dean said firmly, his voice tinged with regret. ‘And I’ve blown it every time. So I don’t plan on screwing it up today.’

Cas’s brow furrowed. ‘Dean?’

Cupping Cas’s face in his hands, Dean pulled the angel closer, closed the dwindling space between them, and planted his lips firmly on Cas’s.

Almost immediately, Cas returned the kiss, leaning into Dean with an urgency that rendered Dean breathless. After a few moments, he was forced to draw back to catch his breath, but he kept a tight hold of Cas’s face, as if afraid to let him go.

Cas was breathing heavily too; his hands fumbled at the fabric on Dean’s shoulders before finding their way to cup Dean’s hands in his. Their fingers intertwined, and they maintained eye contact, each looking as breathless and incredulously happy as the other.

‘Dean?’ There were questions dancing in Cas’s eyes as he gazed at Dean searchingly. His mouth began twitching into a nervous smile, as if he almost daren’t let himself be happy, but couldn’t resist.

‘God, Cas,’ Dean breathed. If it was the last thing he did—or the first thing he did in this strange new life—he was determined that Cas would know the truth. ‘I love you.’ His franticness to tell Cas what he’d always felt led him to speak hurriedly, as if the angel was going to disappear at any moment. ‘You have to know that—I’m so sorry I didn’t say it before. I love you. I love you. I—’

Cas interrupted him by pressing his lips to Dean’s once more, and Dean’s frantic confession was accepted and reciprocated with a kiss so tender that he thought his legs were going to melt out from underneath him.

Cas had always been there for Dean, and Dean struggled to picture a time when he’d been able to make Cas feel as loved as Dean felt when they were together. So as Dean kissed him, he kissed him with the urgency of someone making up for lost time—as if they had been separated for years, and had finally been reunited. As he ran his hands through Cas’s hair—God, he’d longed to do that for years—he tried to channel every ounce of gratitude he had ever felt to the angel who so diligently watched over him, protected him, and did so without ever complaining.

And as fireworks danced behind his vision, his blood pulsed with an unfathomable electricity, and his heart sang with happiness, Dean finally felt like the powers that had been conspiring to keep him unhappy were finally at bay. For all the universe had tried to keep them apart, there was nothing that could prevent them from being together now.

At last, Dean felt free.


End file.
